Training Revelation
by thelastredshirt
Summary: The mighty Yzak Joule has a revelation in the middle of a training exercise. Short oneshot


This came to me while I was in the middle of revising "Three Point Five Shots" and drinking some tea. I'm gonna make that fic a bit longer and more angsty. Meanwhile, enjoy yourself with this.

Disclaimer: I don't own either Gundam SEED or SEED DESTINY. If I did, I'd insert some more major ass-kicking.

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Training Revelation  
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Under standard procedure, ZAFT forces underwent combat simulation every month at Armory Zero, one of the original mobile suit manufacturing plants. It was decommissioned years ago but the complex mazes of the decayed industrial sector created a challenging obstacle course for pilots. Each month a selected unit was sent here for a week, during which they underwent virtually every test that could be conducted with a reasonable degree of safety. The main events were the mobile suit tournament and Last Stand. Both were conducted with relatively harmless targeting lasers but the combat was still intense. In Last Stand, suits were sent out individually and had to defend themselves against an onslaught of training drones from all directions. This month, Joule squad had been selected for the simulation.

"Yzak Joule, Duel, Launching!"

Following the last war, the Duel had been rebuilt with newly developed technology. With advances from the ZAKU series and other second generation production mobile suits, it was now a match for the old Freedom. Earlier this year, the damned Athrun Zala had set a new record of one hundred fifty drones destroyed, ten more than his score last year. Yzak was determined not to lose to Zala again, especially since Zala hadn't touched a mobile suit for over half a year beforehand. The Duel leapt out, weapons blazing and drones started falling. As usual, Dearka provided incessant chatter and commentary over the radio.

"And there he goes! Three targets down in seconds with hundreds more to go. Let's see if he can beat the great Athrun Zala this time," Dearka taunted. "Will he make it or will he suffer yet another devastating defeat. He's been second in chess, second in academics, and second in size. That's fan club size, not the size you're thinking of, ladies. Will this game end the famous second place streak?"

"Shut up! I swear I'll beat him this time and then he won't be able to gloat anymore!" Yzak screamed through his mic. "Don't let me in until I've beaten his score, I'm out, or there's an emergency, got it?"

He shut off the radio so he wouldn't be distracted by the commentary and worse, the attention-grabbing cheering of the women in the observation lounge. Settling back in the seat, the silver-haired commander just let his hands fly. Drone after drone fell until time was just a blur. His feet tapped lightly on the thruster controls, just enough to help swing the rifle around to the next target. Out of ingrained instinct, the targeting reticle automatically aligned itself with the most vulnerable part of the drone.

An indescribable time later, Yzak noticed something wrong. His shots were slowing and less accurate. He'd suffered four of the five allowable strikes, all in the last twenty minutes according to his simulation logs. The flight suit was getting more constrained and he felt an uncontrollable urge. His hands were sweating inside their gloves and the surroundings seemed to be closing in on him. Then, a part of him clenched and he knew what was going so horribly wrong.

He desperately needed a bathroom break.

The score showed one hundred thirty drones destroyed or disabled, but this was a serious emergency. It was a matter of personal pride and dignity. He opened a channel to Dearka in the lounge.

"Let me in! It's an emergency!"

There must have been a major party going on because it took him about a minute to respond. When he did, it sounded drunken and was accompanied by female voices and loud music. "What's the matter? I see no major problems on the readout. Suit power is still good and you've only taken four hits."

He, Yzak Joule would not suffer the indignity of having his problem leaked out to everybody so he replied, "It doesn't matter; just let me in!"

"Nope. Orders, remember? I need a good reason."

"What? I take them ba-"

Abruptly, a piercing alarm sounded in his helmet. The drones had scored four hits while he was distracted by Elsman's obstinate behaviour, effectively knocking him out of the game. The score read one hundred forty nine points. All he could do was to throw his head back and scream in frustration.

"Ah, you're finally out," came Dearka's calm voice. "Opening hanger doors now."

Furious, Yzak slammed the radio's switch and guided the Duel back to the hanger as fast as possible. The one and only Yzak Joule was going mete out punishment in a fashion that only he could accomplish.

But first, a trip to the nearest washroom was in order.

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Well, how was it? Please leave a review, even if it's anonymous, just to let me know what you thought. No one can improve without feedback. If you don't leave one, I shall be forced to bring the Wrath of Joule down upon you.

redshirt


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